


Churning

by Rinari7



Series: Friends, For Lack of a Better Term [3]
Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Rizzles if you squint, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was sort of expecting the conversation, at some point. "Is this... a date... for you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Churning

On some level, Jane was expecting the conversation sooner or later.

It doesn't come after one of the many in-fucking-credibly traumatic events like Jane thought it would. Not after one of the billion times she—they—were shot at, not after Maura was kidnapped and returned, not even after Frost's completely random and undeserved death (you can isolate yourself until it's _your own partner_ and then it hits you like a freight train and Maura had held her as she cried herself to sleep that night).

 

It's just a regular night, with Jane sipping a beer in front of Maura's TV and channel-surfing while Maura loads the dishes from dinner into the dishwasher. (Jane had put her foot down at tofu and quinoa, and Maura refused to consume frozen hamburgers “unless it was one of the few edible things left available to me, which is highly unlikely to ever happen”, so the chicken and rice casserole was a compromise.)

 

“Why don't you go out any more? I mean, I'm happy you're not dragging me out on double dates with male nurses from yoga class, but it's been a while since Jack.”  
The _clang_ as Maura sets the glass casserole dish into the dishwasher sounds incredibly loud in Jane's ears.

“It's been even longer since Casey. I know it was incredibly difficult for you...” She skirts the topic elegantly, that child that Jane had wanted to have, another casualty of her job. Jane is grateful that Maura can be tactful sometimes, because _that_ is not what she wants to talk about right now—never wants to talk about if she can avoid it.

 

“Well, yeah. But you were always more into dating and hooking up than I was. Immuno-globules and whatever.”  
  
“It's immunoglobulin A. I've been taking care to boost my immune system in other ways.”  
  
“Okay, sure. But that's not what I asked.”

“Would you _prefer_ for me to be somewhere else? Occupying less of your time? You're under no obligation to spend the evening here, Jane.” There's a question, a slight catch to her voice, and Jane sets down her beer (on a coaster, because Maura's coffee table probably costs at least half her monthly salary) and twists to look at her.

 

Maura Isles is staring at her with wide eyes, blinking quickly. Most of the dishes on the counter have made their way into the open dishwasher, and the caramel blonde grips a plate in both hands, practically clutching it to herself as a shield.

“Hey. Maura.” Jane is up, moving, and she can see the tension in her friend's shoulders, the nervous, quick, rise and fall of her chest. “I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. It's just something different for you, that's all. There's nothing wrong with not dating.”

She curls her hand over Maura's, coaxes her fingers out of that cramped position, and gently slides the plate into a free slot on the rack.

Maura stares at it for a moment, one of those lost little smiles seeping over her face. She glances at Jane, and it turns into a full, proper one, and then she turns to grab the silverware, the only thing left.

 

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Maura glances up from arranging the knives and forks in the small plastic basket, her hair falling over her face.

“That little—that _look_ , what was that?” She promised, Jane fucking promised herself she would _never_ be responsible for that look on Maura's face (even if she already has been responsible for it, after she jumped off a bridge, when she was dealing with a hitman in an abandoned warehouse, more times than she'd like to admit, likely more times than she knows about, and that kills something inside her, too, whenever she thinks about it).

 

“You're confusing me, Jane. I have no clue what you're referring to.”

“That--” She attempts to mimic the expression, though it probably looks like some gargoyle grimace. “It's that look you get the day after a da—a bad date.” _Any date; all of them_ except for maybe the ones with Jack and _that_ sets something inside of her off-kilter. “Like, I dunno. Disappointed. Lonely. Overthinking. If something's going on, tell me.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Maura measures out the exact amount of dishwashing powder and closes the machine.

 

Jane's gut twists. “Well then, what is ordinary?” Her voice is softer in her ears than it was in her head, and she's happy about that.  
  
“Bass is enjoying his heat lamp in the laundry room. I am about to pour myself a glass of wine and likely debate the merits of a documentary of Jane Austen's life versus the appeal of watching athletic males run up and down a court with you. Angela is--”  
  
“That's not what I meant.”  
  
“You'll have to be more specific, then.”  
  
“What is _ordinary_ that—that makes you look like you're on a bad date?” And she recalls the way Maura tossed her hair over her shoulder, and brushed against Jane's arm while they were setting the table, and _that_ the table had a centerpiece and a candle, even if that's how Maura always tosses her hair and how she and Maura aren't afraid of touching each other and how Maura's table always looks.

 

Maura's shoulders tense up again, and she examines the controls of her dishwasher as she sets them, as if she hasn't seen them ten thousand times before.

Jane carefully sets a hand on her shoulder, just about to ask again, more softly, when Maura replies. “It's not a bad date, Jane.”

“Well, then, what is it?”  
  
“If this were a date, I would call it quite good. Better than most I can recall.”

“English, Maura, for the non-geniuses present. What are you trying to say?” A pause, then quietly, in a tone she might use for a child at a crime scene, maybe for her own benefit more than Maura's: “ _Is_ this… a date… for you?”  
Her heartbeat is quick as she lets her hand fall to her side again. She hadn't thought this conversation would unnerve her. She was wrong.

 

Maura stills, leaning against the heels of her hands on the counter as the machine starts its low hum that echoes in the otherwise silent kitchen. “I don't know, Jane.” A quick glance, and she's tucking her hair behind her ear. “And I hate it when I don't understand something.”  
  
“Why would it be a date?” Jane hasn't moved. She swallows, and feel the tension thrumming along her tendons.

“We are spending time together voluntarily. We had dinner together. Afterward we will be consuming an audiovisual medium and relaxing at one of our homes, together.”  
  
“Friends do that, too, Maura.”

“I know that, intellectually.” Maura twists her hands together. “But I never really had friends. I have no practical experience in the difference, further complicated by the widely-held piece of advice that one should 'be' with one's best friend.” She gazes at Jane, her eyes pleading. “What's the difference, Jane?”

 

Jane opens her mouth, and closes it, and she has no answer. Because she loves Maura and she doesn't want to see her like this, even if she's not sure she loves her like _that_. Because the guys never worked out. Because you should be with your best friend, and that was never Casey. (Because maybe Maura was right, that she _needs_ someone nice and supportive and basically the opposite of her type… which would pretty much be Maura.)

 

“Jane?” Maura takes a hesitant step towards her, her chin tilted up.

“Ah, it's kind of a fine line, y'know. I mean, it takes a while to get to know someone you're dating, and… and you know what, I've got no clue either.” She clears her throat.

Maura spreads her hands in a helpless little gesture, and Jane reaches for them, tracing her thumbs over the smooth skin. (She could tell you the name of the lotion the medical examiner uses to moisturize each time after she washes her hands down in the morgue. Jane doesn't even think about lotions or skin care unless she's with Maura.)

 

“I'm not gay,” she says, because something needs to fill the silence. “I mean, I know when a woman looks good. But I've never really wanted to… y'know. I always figured that was the main difference. Whether you might end up in bed together afterwards.” (As if she hadn't been in bed with Maura, even if it was platonically. She might even have slept more comfortably there than in her own bed alone, or with Casey snoring beside her after an awkward “yeah that's what you came here for but I'm not up for it after all”.)  
  
“I—I've been with women. I know it's not something we've ever talked about. I'm not quite bisexual. I didn't know if you were… what your orientation was. It never really came up, and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I know your family is Catholic. I've never--”  
Jane can feel her tensing, beginning to pull her arms back towards herself, and she grips Maura's hands more firmly.

 

“Relax. I kinda figured, you know, that maybe you weren't completely straight. I mean, you had no problems being ogled at that lesbian club.”

Maura gives her a sheepish half-smile. “I've been back there once or twice.”

Jane drops her hands, afraid she'll squeeze them too tightly, and she can breathe again, even if her voice is too high. “What? Really?”  
  
Maura lifts a shoulder slightly. “Nothing came of it.”

“Nothing, like you went home alone nothing?” She doesn't know why she cares.

“Nothing, as in they had no interest in seeing me again. Or seeing me again outside of the bedroom.” Maura's voice catches. She looks down, grimacing, and her hair falls in her face again.

 

“They're idiots. They are fucking idiots if they don't want you—want to be—around you.” (And she means that, connotations be damned.)

Maura's lips twist into that disappointed smile. “It's fine, Jane. I'm used to it.” She punctuates this with a small nod, raising one hand to briefly run her nails along her neckline.

“ _Those_ were bad dates.” She attempts to laugh. “Well, one of them was, anyways.”

 

She can't think of anything to say. “Uh, okay… I guess that's not so bad, then, if they were bad dates.” ( _Good, Rizzoli, real good._ ) She wants to slap herself.

“I suppose not.” Maura nods, and turns abruptly, stalking across the kitchen. “Would you like me to get out an extra wineglass for you?”

“Uh, my beer is already out on the coffee table.”

“All right. I'll be there in a moment.”

 

She takes several steps towards the couch. They're long and sluggish, and then Maura appears beside her, nudging her with her hip, smiling. “Jane? Are you going to sit down?”

(Maybe the whole compartmentalizing thing is something they teach you in medical school. Hell, they probably have an exam on it, which Maura would've passed with flying colors.)

“Did you ever think we were on a date? Like, a _date_ date?” Jane picks up her beer, just to do something with her hands. It's no longer cool against her palms.

“I did, at one point.” Maura is watching her wine fill the glass. “I—that was the main reason people were inclined to spend time with me. But you never seemed inclined to… do anything _other_ than spend time with me. And then you mentioned dates with guys, so I took that as a signal you weren't interested. Yet you still invited me to do things. I eventually simply accepted that I would never understand you.” She sets the cork back in, setting the bottle down on its own coaster. “I assume you want to watch sports? If I recall correctly, there is a Celtics game tonight.”

 

“Well—you never said anything!”

"I generally assume you know the game schedule of the various sports teams you follow. I didn't think explicitly mentioning that the Celtics are playing tonight would be necessary--I thought you would be the one reminding _me_ of it."

"No! About--you thinking we were going out!" She mutters this through her teeth.

“It became clear to me that I had misinterpreted the relationship. I still can't say that I know precisely how to interpret it. Meditation helps me to cope with frustration and things I cannot change.”

Maura grips the remote, but waits patiently.

“We're friends, Maura! How can you not know that?”

 

Maura's expression becomes earnest. “You're my best friend, Jane.”

She pauses, smiles slightly to let that sink in, before continuing. “However, there are multiple kinds of relationships involving friends: friends who harbor romantic feelings for each other, or so-called 'friends with benefits', for instance. And friends can also be other things to each other: husband, wife, coworkers, life partners... I am never sure where we fall. I suppose friendship, like sexuality, is rather fluid.”

Maura raises her wine to her lips, as composed as if they were talking about a dead body in the morgue. (No, if there was a dead body between them, Maura would either be smiling or pursing her lips slightly like she does when she's concentrating, and Jane would feel a hell of a lot more relaxed than she is now.)

 

She's incredibly surprised she hasn't dropped or spilled her beer. The glass is slick against her sweaty palms. “Did you just—friends with benefits? Really? Are you actually suggesting that I want--” Her voice is high, raspier than usual.

Maura's eyes widen, and she shrinks into the couch cushions, shaking her head, mutely imploring. “I—No! I didn't mean to offend you, Jane. I'm sorry if the idea repulses you. I didn't mean to imply anything. I—I was only saying that I don't know what our friendship is.” Her words tumble over each other, hectic, frantic. “According to my research, most adult females within our age range don't sleep in one another's beds, or have the other's mother as a semi-permanent fixture in their home, or… spend quite as much time together as we do. It seems as though our relationship would extend beyond the traditional definition of friendship, and the logical extension would be 'partner', but we don't fit all of those requirements either, neither the legal nor the sexual and only partially the convention of cohabitation.”

 

She takes a long sip of her beer. “Do you have to put us into a box, Maura?” It hurts. She's quiet. “I mean, what kinda box do you want? I can tell Ma she needs to find her own place...”

“No, no, I love having her here.” Maura twists the wineglass in her fingers, shaking her head again. “That wasn't what I meant at all. I just—I want to know what you want from me, how I'm supposed to act.” (Jane wonders how young Maura was when she was first dressed up in a ballgown for some function and told “straighten your shoulders, don't spill your drink, smile, there, thank you” and all but patted on the head and abandoned.)  
  
“God, Maura, just be you! Just act like you always have. It doesn't have to be so complicated. I like you for _you_.”

 

Maura's blinking, heavily. She raises her head enough to stare at Jane, a hesitant smile forming that's somehow just as bright as when she laughs. Her eyelashes are wet. “I—thank you, Jane. I--” Her voice breaks, and she simply smiles.

Jane loves seeing Maura smile.

 

***

 

_It kind of itches under her skin, the non-answer. But then she has all the answers she really needs, doesn't she?_

_Someone likes_ her. _Not Constance and Arthur's cute little girl, not the genius who's happy to explain pretty much anything to you, not the medical examiner or occasional doctor for live patients, not the rich heiress to the Isles legacy, not the hot girl who knows her way around others' bodies._ Her. Maura Dorothea Isles.

_For whatever reason. She might have to ask Jane why, one day. (But she's watching the Austen documentary with some semblance of interest, so Maura won't break that focus.)_

 

_And all she has to do is be herself._

_She's not even sure she knows what that means, but she's always been a fast learner._

 

_She'll still worry, sometimes, that Jane will leave, eventually. Or find someone who ranks higher in her life than Maura. (Like Casey, and the memory of that moment when she saw the ring on Jane's finger still chokes her with fear.)_

_She pushes those thoughts away, when they come. There's no sense in worrying about something that may never happen, about something you can't change._

_Maybe she could change it, if she tried, but she doesn't want to be manipulating. She doesn't want to keep Jane from happiness. And Jane deserves a proper partner, which won't be her. She's made that clear._

That _stings, and she boxes it up somewhere and shoves it into a corner, like the thought of Arthur cheating on Constance, even if Jane's done nothing wrong by not being attracted to her, by not wanting that with her._ _(Even if it's the first time in a long time Maura maybe wants_ that _for its own sake.)_

 

_There is the comforting thought that Jane has never really been interested in dating. She has hardly ever gone after a guy, even if he fell in her lap (like Joey Grant, or Jorge, or Detective Martinez, or even Casey, and Maura theorizes her new assistant wouldn't be disinterested, either)._

_Maura doesn't really feel the need to date anymore, not when she can go home (to either of their places of residence) with Jane and feel more_ loved, _more_ connected _than she has with almost anyone else._

 

_She can't resist twisting to sit sideways on the couch, her back to the armrest, and propping her feet against Jane's shins under her blanket (her legs are drawn up by her side on the couch as she leans against the opposite armrest with her hip and stomach, facing the portrayal of Regency England)._

_Jane shakes her head, irritation warring with longsuffering and affection and the hint of a grin_ _in her expression as she keeps her eyes on the TV._

 

_Maura can't keep a smile off her face._

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt I did anything justice.  
> It feels like... it didn't go anywhere, and I apologize if anyone felt like I was a tease.
> 
> It wouldn't feel true to the characters if it ended up as "proper" Rizzles, as in a romance or any kind of commitment or anything...  
> But it would feel dishonest to do anything else, too.
> 
> So... I'm just going to leave this here.  
> (Also, I don't care what the producers say. I see no reason why Maura would send Bass to the zoo.)


End file.
